


Briar's Books - New, Used, Rare - Special Orders Available

by edibleflowers



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s01e04 Cyberwoman, Kissing, M/M, Retcon (Torchwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Ianto met Jack wasn't really the first time Ianto met Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Briar's Books - New, Used, Rare - Special Orders Available

**Author's Note:**

> This story wasn't quite taken from RP, but was very heavily inspired by it. It would not exist without lemniskate67. Beta credit and muchas gracias go to 51stcenturyfox, who is awesome. Any errors in Cardiff geography are my own. I can't really say much more because it'd give the thing away, but it seems silly to mark for spoilers at this point in time anyway, doesn't it?
> 
> Originally posted on April 30, 2010, on my Livejournal.

The first time Ianto Jones met Jack Harkness was a slow morning at the bookshop.

Ianto liked slow mornings, the quiet times that let him get things in order: in this particular case, stocking new inventory that had come in the day before. Without any customers to interrupt him, he could get into a rhythm, focusing on shelving the new stock and rearranging the old. The ring of the bell mounted over the door broke his concentration, and he sighed briefly before glancing out from behind the shelf.

The man standing there had stopped dead just inside the door, his face white as if he'd seen a ghost. After a moment, he wrenched his jaw shut and smiled (not entirely pleasant, that expression), and Ianto offered a slightly confused smile of his own in return. It took a moment for him to find his voice; he usually had no trouble greeting customers, but the man was -- well, frankly, he was nothing short of gorgeous, striking and tall in a long greyish RAF greatcoat that had to be a genuine antique.

"Hiya," he finally managed to blurt out. "Welcome to Briar's Books. Anything I can help you find?"

The man shook his head, just a brief motion. "I. Uh, no, I'm just looking," he replied, giving Ianto a blinding smile; _American_ , Ianto thought, and then wondered why that didn't seem right. Hell, maybe he was Canadian. Who cared? "I've got a -- a friend's birthday coming up," the man added, sounding a little stilted.

Ianto nodded, turning over the book in his hand. "Let me know if you need any help," he said, and ducked back behind the shelf. He could hear the man's footsteps taking him to the other side of the store and gave a little sigh of relief, returning his attention to shelving books. _Strange_ , he told himself, _daft, barmy, who walks around in period military anyway_. He tried not to think about that smile.

He'd already been almost done with adding in the new stock, and he listened with an absent ear as he finished his task; he could hear the occasional shift of boots on carpet as the man moved from one rack to the next. Browsing, unlikely to buy; odd time of day for someone to come in anyway, not even yet lunchtime on a weekday. Ianto broke down the cardboard box and took it to the back to stack with the other recycling. When he came out again, he saw that the man had paused in the crafts section and carefully didn't arch his eyebrow.

He was occupied with making a fresh pot of coffee at the counter when the man came up with a book in hand. Ianto gave him a nod of acknowledgment as he finished pouring water into the reservoir and started the machine.

"All set? Found everything you need?" Ianto asked, taking the book and turning it around to scan it in. A beginner's book on origami, one that came with a sample selection of paper for the ambitious to attempt folding; interesting choice.

The man nodded, rucking back his coat to get out his wallet. As he took out a credit card, though, he paused to inhale the smell of the brewing coffee, and his eyes tracked to Ianto once more with that odd look. Ianto blinked; the man was smiling again, so quickly that Ianto wondered if he'd imagined the startled glance. "Smells delicious," the man said. "Can I get a coffee as well?"

"Sure," Ianto nodded, bemused. He added the price of a large coffee to the order and totalled it, then reached for a paper cup to pour. "Sugar or cream?" he asked, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, carefully not looking at the man's face.

"I don't know, do I need it?" The man's light, almost jovial tone did make Ianto's eyebrow go up this time, and he couldn't help but smile a little.

"How about you taste it and see," he suggested. Reaching for the now-full pot, he poured carefully, secured the lid and then handed it over.

Clearly, the man appreciated his coffee; Ianto was reminded of a wine-taster, the way he lifted the cup for a delicate inhalation of the steam, then the brief sip, his eyes closed as if to better savour it. After a moment, the man lowered the cup again and gave Ianto the most remarkable smile.

"Perfect," he said, and Ianto was entirely startled to feel himself blush.

"That'll be fifteen pounds fifty-one," he said, to try and divert his mind, and gratefully accepted the credit card to swipe.

"Is this a good book?" the man asked, picking up the origami book. "I suppose I should have asked that before I bought it, huh?"

Ianto nodded; he reached under the counter for a paper bag. "It's a popular seller. Good illustrations, very clear instructions. We have some more advanced books, if you know the basics."

"No, no," the man said. Ianto handed him the credit card back and pulled off the slip for him to sign. "This'll do. I'm thinking I might try making paper cranes for my friend's birthday. A thousand, that's supposed to make a wish come true, right?"

Ianto tried to beat back the annoyed voice in his head that had begun to complain about customers who overshared. "I believe so, yes," he said. Folding over the receipt, he tucked it into the bag with the book, taking back the signed slip and handing the bag to -- _Jack Harkness_ , that was what was printed under the signature line. "Well, if you need more paper, we can special-order it. Or I believe the arts and crafts shops will carry it."

Harkness nodded, tucking the bag under his arm. "Careful, I'll be in here all the time folding cranes. So have you worked here long? I've been in before, but I don't think I've seen you."

"Just under two months," Ianto replied, cautiously neutral. Not that he wasn't secure enough in himself to appreciate another man's looks -- but was this Harkness flirting with him?

"Well." Harkness extended a hand. "It was nice to meet you, ah...?" Ianto thought he was going for his coffee, then -- _oh_ \-- it clicked over in his brain.

"Jones," Ianto said automatically, shaking Harkness's hand in return. "Ianto Jones. Nice to meet you, too," he added, wondering even as he said it where that had come from.

"Captain Jack Harkness," the man replied, confirming the identity on the register slip. He did take his coffee now, smiling as he took another sip. "And now I know where to come when I need a book."

"Well, we're, we're open six days a week," Ianto offered. _Repeat customer_ , he told himself firmly. _That's all I'm interested in_. "Here," he added, finding one of the business cards in a plastic tray by the register and handing it to Harkness. "In case you need anything. If, if you have any questions, I mean."

He was still blinking at his own reaction, but Harkness just smiled and slipped the card into his pocket. "Thanks," he said, with a quick nod. "I'm sure I'll be back."

Watching the man go, Ianto was surprised to realise that he was looking forward to the prospect.

* * *

As it turned out, he only had to wait a few days. He honestly hadn't expected Jack Harkness ( _Captain_ Jack, at that) to turn up in the ordinary little bookshop a second time. It just figured that when he did, Ianto was trying to avoid a customer.

It wasn't that Melody wasn't pretty; she certainly had a nice figure and an endearing smile. But her blatant flirting, not even remotely subtle, was an approach for which Ianto had never cared, and despite his repeated assurances that he wasn't interested, she kept pressing the issue. Today was a perfect example; she'd decided, out of nowhere, to apply for a job at the shop, despite the fact that Alun wasn't hiring, hadn't even hinted at needing more help. It didn't matter what Ianto said, either: she was determined to apply, and Ianto's inability to produce an application form only seemed to be incentive for her to keep asking, as if he'd hire her just to shut her up.

When the bell over the door jingled, he glanced up automatically, hoping for anything that would get him away from Melody. To his surprise, it was the man -- Jack Harkness, Ianto remembered that name all too clearly -- still in his greatcoat despite the warm weather outside. Harkness caught his eye briefly, giving him a wry, sympathetic smile, and then disappeared into the magazine section. _Shit_ , Ianto sighed to himself; he'd been hoping Harkness would need some assistance.

 _In more ways than one_ , suggested that voice in the back of his brain that seemed to pop up whenever he thought of the man.

"No, seriously, Melody, I'll ask Alun but I'm sure he'll say no," he was saying when Harkness returned to the counter, standing patiently behind her. "Now if you don't mind, I have a customer to help."

"Oh!" Melody turned as if she hadn't seen Harkness, gave him a fluttering smile, and then turned back to wink at Ianto. "Well, give me a call when you know, you've got my number!" She stepped aside so that Harkness could approach the counter, though it took several more seconds for her to start backing out of the shop. Ianto patently ignored her, taking the newspapers Jack had brought and ringing them up.

When the door had at last closed behind her, he sighed audibly, unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Harkness chuckled sympathetically.

"She likes you, I can tell," he commented.

"You noticed that?" Ianto said wryly, then sighed. "I'm sorry about that, it was a bit rude of me."

"Not at all," Harkness said. "And I'll have a large cup of your amazing coffee." As Ianto turned to take a cup and pour, Harkness chuckled. "You should be flattered to have such a devoted admirer."

"Perhaps if she threw herself at me a little less fervently," Ianto said, his voice dry as he topped the cup with a lid and slid it across the counter to Harkness. "So, er, how are the cranes coming?"

"Oh, I've been hard at work on them." Harkness smiled, sudden and huge. "I'll be needing more paper at the rate I'm going."

"Good, good." Ianto found himself unexpectedly grasping at the topic, wanting to keep the man there just a moment longer. "If you need, I can order some more for you. Variety packs, that sort of thing."

"Excellent." Harkness nodded; there was a moment of long silence and then he laughed. "Right, I suppose you want some money for that." Still smiling, he dug out his wallet -- and for just a moment, so quick he wondered if he missed it, Ianto saw what he thought was a gun holster on the man's hip. He shook it off as he took the money and made change, calculating it easily in his head. Must have been some fancy mobile holder made to look like a holster.

Handing over the change, he smiled. "Good luck with the folding," he offered.

"Thanks." Harkness smiled, too, and then reached for one of the shop's business cards, flipping it over to scribble a number on the back. "Tell you what. Go ahead and order the paper, and here -- here's my number, so you can just call me when it comes in. My job can get pretty busy, that's my mobile number."

"All--all right," Ianto managed, swallowing and taking the card from Harkness' hand. "Sure. It should just be a week or so." 

* * *

After that, Ianto started to think he was seeing Jack Harkness everywhere he went. It was mad, of course; two encounters weren't any kind of connection, and yet Ianto found himself, at odd moments, thinking about Harkness: how well that long coat suited him, how that rakish smile just fit his face. Any quick motion in the corner of his eye seemed to be the flap of the coat's hem; but when Ianto turned, it was invariably a cat or a child or a piece of paper fluttering on the road. In Tesco's, Ianto swore he saw those boots across an aisle, but a second glance proved it to be a girl in chunky shoes instead. He shook his head in amusement at his own folly.

Walking home from the cinema one evening, he spotted Harkness again -- sitting at an outdoor cafe with a book in his hands -- and for a moment actually thought it just another moment of wishful thinking before it hit him: _no, that's really him_. Absorbed in his novel, Harkness sat sprawled back in the wrought-iron chair, one square hand holding the book's pages open, a cup of coffee steaming at his elbow. Surprised, Ianto came to a full stop, and the sound of his trainers striking gravel on the pavement pulled Harkness' attention from the novel.

Once again, Ianto found himself taken aback by the force of that smile. "Ianto Jones," Harkness said in that American twang, and Ianto stepped closer to the table without any thought.

He managed a smile of his own in return, hands safe in his pockets. "Captain Harkness," Ianto replied. "My coffee not good enough for you anymore?"

"Well, I could hardly come by the bookshop when it's closed, could I?" Harkness gestured across the table; almost involuntarily, Ianto pulled out the chair opposite and sat while Harkness earmarked his page and closed the novel. "And please, call me Jack."

"Jack," Ianto repeated, a little shy, and felt himself blush when Jack's smile deepened. "Sorry; you've got a point there, haven't you."

"Will you join me?" Harkness -- Jack -- asked. For a moment Ianto blinked, confused; then Jack reached for his coffee to take a sip and Ianto realised what he was asking.

"I'd rather not have any caffeine this late," Ianto said apologetically. "Besides, I -- I'm a bit of a coffee snob, and they're not--" He paused, as the mug was still at Jack's lips. But Jack just chuckled and shook his head.

"Not as good as yours," Jack finished the sentence for him. "But it'll do."

"It's good enough," Ianto said with a wry shake of his head. "Though you'd think a place that specialises in coffee would know better than to burn their beans."

That made Jack laugh. Ianto glanced at the novel he was reading, now set aside on the table: an old paperback, an Agatha Christie mystery. Not what Ianto would have expected. Interesting.

"So what brings you out this late at night?" Jack asked, diverting Ianto, who glanced back up at him.

"Oh, they were having a James Bond marathon at the Chapter Arts Centre. I love a good Bond film," Ianto admitted. He didn't miss the way Jack's eyes went just a little darker, just for a moment; but before he could wonder why, the flicker was gone. "What about you?" he asked.

Jack shrugged. "Just getting out for a bit. It's a nice night," he said.

Somehow, Ianto knew he wasn't getting the whole story, but he didn't want to press. Curiosity compelled him a step further, though. "If you don't mind me asking," he said, "what do you do?"

Jack's eyebrow went up; then he sat back and smiled. "What do you think I do?" he asked instead.

Ianto laughed. "I have no idea." Looking over Jack, he contemplated possibilities for a moment. "Outfit like that, it could be anything from an actor to... I don't know, an undercover agent in Her Majesty's service or something," he suggested, and then smiled. "But if you are, don't tell me. Just give me a nod or something."

He felt a surprising sense of relief when Jack grinned teasingly, laying a finger aside his nose for a moment, then shook his head. "Nothing that exciting, I'm afraid," he said. "I'm a pilot for a charter airline. I fly executives around wherever they need to go, all over Europe. It's a lot more interesting than it sounds."

"So that's where the 'Captain' comes from," Ianto said without thinking, earning an indulgent chuckle. He bit his lip, glancing at Jack again. "At least you get to get out of Wales. I've never been further than London."

"The truth is I mostly see airports and the insides of lots of hotel rooms," Jack replied. "You're young, though. You have the time. You could travel anywhere you wanted to."

"Maybe," Ianto said quietly, and suddenly he felt it -- his youth, stretching like a chasm between them. This experienced man who fascinated him in unexpected ways couldn't possibly be interested in Ianto. "Maybe. Uh, I, I should get going," he said, and pushed back his chair.

"Of course," Jack said, reaching for his novel, then his coffee for a last sip. "I'll see you at the shop?"

"Sure," Ianto replied, and tried not to make his retreat too much of a flight.

* * *

The drive back was quiet; Jack didn't like to have music on while he drove, mostly because he tended to get too focused when he listened to music (which made his driving even more erratic), but also because he needed to hear if something beeped or if he received a call. Everything stayed blessedly silent, though, and when Jack pulled into the underground parking, he turned the SUV off and dropped his head against the headrest, sighing to himself.

This was stupid -- beyond stupid -- and he knew it. He'd already been lectured, once by Owen and then again by Gwen when she'd found out, while Tosh had simply given him one of her even looks, more damning than any words. But tonight had been an accident, he mentally argued. It wasn't as if he'd gone out looking for Ianto. The first time was the same: Jack had legitimately been looking for a birthday gift for Tosh, he'd had no idea Ianto would be there in that particular shop.

The second time, though...

Shaking his head a little, Jack got out of the SUV and locked it up, heading down to the private entrance that -- as far as anyone else knew -- was for use only by employees of the carpark. He unlocked it, noting as he did that the light in the inner passage was flickering; it'd have to be replaced soon. That was the kind of thing he'd never even had to think about before; Ianto would simply have taken care of it.

The passage brought him through into the armoury, and from there into the Hub proper. Jack stopped there, as he always did, just looking around to make sure everything was the way he'd left it. Of course it was; the others had gone home earlier, and he'd left the Hub in lockdown, Myfanwy's gate open so that she was free to fly about and stretch her wings within the confines of the Hub's spacious interior. She wasn't visible at the moment, but Jack saw that the bucket of food had been emptied, and he scooped it up as he walked through the Hub, leaving it at the sink to clean.

Cleaning was another thing that had gone with Ianto. The coffee -- God, the _coffee_ \-- wasn't remotely as good, though Tosh tried her best; more times they went out for whatever was closest, with mixed results. Jack had been spoiled for any other coffee and he knew it. Their mugs were stacked haphazardly for some unlucky volunteer to jump in and clean them. Jack suspected mold was forming colonies in the leftover sludge, but as he had a policy against harming sentient life unless necessary, he'd left it for someone else to deal with. With a rueful sigh, he moved on to his office, shrugging out of his greatcoat and hanging it on the rack in the corner.

He supposed it wasn't surprising that he'd gone back to see Ianto a second time. Though Ianto hadn't been with Torchwood long, he'd made a significant impact on them -- and on Jack -- in more ways than one. The filing was reverting to its state of jumbled disorganization. The tourist centre had fallen into neglect; they kept it locked most of the time now, since they didn't have time to spare to man it. And if Jack was being honest with himself, he missed Ianto.

He'd forgotten, in his long period of celibacy, the excitement of simply sharing body heat with another person. Even though what he'd done with Ianto -- the illicit, exciting kisses and touches and promises of more -- hadn't been in the context of any kind of relationship, it hadn't mattered; he hadn't been looking for a relationship, or so he thought then. Even though it had been a deception--

Sitting down hard in his chair, Jack rubbed his face in his hands. Right now, past transgressions didn't seem to matter. He knew he was going to see Ianto again. He'd take the others' warnings under advisement; it didn't change the fact that he would deliberately seek Ianto Jones out.

* * *

Ianto had actually begun to hope that he wouldn't see Jack Harkness again. Not that he didn't want to: oh, no, he did want, quite a lot, and that was the problem. He found it more than a little disconcerting; he'd never before been attracted to a man in his life. Well, not that he could remember, anyway. Still, he didn't quite know what to do with the concept of being interested in someone of his own gender, wondering what it'd be like to kiss him, to touch him. His mind supplied images with all-too-ready abandon: Jack's kiss would be warm and intimate, sending sparks through him, and his hands with their long square fingers would be hot on his skin--

The first time he wanked to the image, he breathed hard into his fist and wondered if he was going mad. The second time, he accepted it. If he was interested in a man, then so be it. It was far from the most loathsome idea he could think of, especially when it involved the surpassingly handsome Captain Jack Harkness with his intense blue eyes and his free smile.

He was arranging tables outside the bookshop the next day when he heard Jack's voice hailing him, and the images he'd fantasised over came back with shocking suddenness. Ianto cursed under his breath, inhaled deeply, then straightened and smiled at Jack.

"What's all this?" Jack asked, hands in the pockets of that damned coat, surveying Ianto's efforts.

Ianto leaned on one of the three heavy tables he'd arranged to the side of the bookshop's front door. "New idea," he said. "I've been trying to talk Alun -- he's my boss -- into having a little more space for the coffee drinkers for a while now. He finally agreed to it, but I have to take care of it all myself."

"And he'll take the credit if it's a roaring success, right?" Jack arched an eyebrow, and Ianto chuckled.

"Exactly. We'll see how it goes," he said. "Oh! Your paper came in." At Jack's querying glance, he added, "The origami paper? For the cranes?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Jack nodded, understanding blooming, and smiled. "Well, let's see it, shall we? And of course I'll need a coffee."

Smiling, Ianto led the way back into the shop. He'd saved the paper along with the other specially-ordered items in a cubby under the register, and he pulled out the paper, neatly clipped together. "There we go. Six packages of a hundred each, that ought to last you for a bit. How are the cranes coming along?"

"Pretty well." Jack leaned on the counter, unclipping the packages and fanning them out to see the variety of prints. "I'm at the point I could practically fold them in my sleep now. I've got them all in bags in -- in my closet." The falter was so minute Ianto might have not even noticed. He blamed it on being a little too closely attuned to Jack and turned to pour the coffee. Really stupid, the man had him acting like some sort of prepubescent, gangling schoolboy--

"There you go," he said, sliding the coffee across the counter. "Paying for it now, or when you've finished?"

"I'll take care of it now," Jack replied, reaching for his wallet. "And -- if you're not busy -- would you mind keeping me company while I drink?"

"Not at all," Ianto said, blinking, and turned to pour another coffee for himself, this one in his personal mug. Better to have something to occupy his hands, he thought.

Though crisp, the weather was still warm enough for them to sit comfortably outside; Jack shrugged out of his long coat, and Ianto felt an absurd desire to take it and hang it somewhere, rather than let him leave it draped over the unused portion of the table. Bemused by the urge, he sat back, hands cupped around his mug.

"So tell me a little about yourself, Ianto Jones," Jack said, his own coffee held lightly in one hand.

Ianto shrugged. "Not much to tell. I was born in Newport, grew up there, went to school, the usual. My sister still lives there, Rhiannon. She's married, I've got a niece and nephew." His throat worked a moment before he added, "Went away to London when I was seventeen."

"And then you came back here?" Jack prompted, his mouth at the rim of his cup. Ianto watched as he inhaled, sipped, let the coffee roll over his tongue before swallowing. The man had appreciation for coffee down to an art.

"Sort of," Ianto said. "I don't -- I don't remember that part." It was more than he usually admitted to anyone, and he found himself looking down at his own cup. "It's. Sort of a long story, it's hard to talk about."

Jack only smiled gently, and Ianto exhaled in relief. "All right," Jack said. "Another time. How long have you been working here?"

"Just a few months," Ianto said. "I was lucky, the position had just opened up. It's been good, I really like it."

"Nice and quiet," Jack commented. "Plus you get to meet all sorts of interesting people."

"There's certainly that." Ianto found himself smiling as he sipped at his coffee. Daring a glance at Jack, he saw that his smile was mirrored, and it made him flush and look away again. What was it about the man? Maybe it was that smell, the strange spicy musk, some cologne with which Ianto wasn't familiar: then again, it could be the eyes, blue and clear and strangely knowing.

"I know this is a bit sudden," Jack said quietly, "but I'd like to ask you out."

"On a date?" Ianto said, his eyes jerking up to meet Jack's.

The smile curled in the corner of his mouth, Jack nodded. "That's the traditional term. Dinner, movie, the whole nine yards. Dancing, if you like that sort of thing."

Ianto felt himself lost, grasping for an answer. "S-sure," he said at last. "As long as you don't mind that I've never gone out with a man before."

"Fair enough," Jack said. His voice was soft as a caress. "Does it bother you? That I'm interested?"

"It surprises me," Ianto admitted. Jack laughed at that, but it was warm, friendly, and Ianto smiled through his embarrassment.

"It shouldn't." Jack's smile softened for a moment, knowing and somehow -- strangely -- familiar. Ianto swallowed, looked away from Jack's compelling eyes in spite of himself. Jack made a quiet sound, almost a laugh. "Anyway," he went on. "How does Strada sound? Tomorrow, around seven? It's right on the Quay, great view of the bay."

Nodding, Ianto sat up a little. "That -- that sounds fine," he said, about to continue when his attention was arrested by the sight of a black SUV zooming down the street toward them, its horn blatting repeatedly. "What the," he said, and Jack turned, his smile dropping into a startled look, then a frown.

The SUV pulled up to a stop right at the pavement in front of the shop; stunned, Ianto watched as an Asian woman emerged from the passenger door, calling Jack's name. When he glanced at Jack again, he saw that Jack was standing, hastily stuffing the origami paper into a pocket.

"I've got to go," Jack said, with a quick, regretful smile. "I'll call you later?"

"Sure," Ianto replied. The woman was still standing at the open door, looking impatient -- and unhappy, too, when she saw Ianto. That seemed an odd reaction; Ianto didn't recall ever meeting her before in his life. Someone at the wheel applied the horn again, and Jack huffed out a sigh, glanced back at Ianto one more time, and then hurried for the vehicle. It was a flash piece of work; Ianto could see a word stamped into the side panel, though the angle of the sun made it impossible for him to make out individual letters; blue lights ran along the inner lines of the windscreen; the whole thing was inky black without a single marking indicating the maker, though it was clearly a Range Rover by design. Not what Ianto had expected Jack to drive. Then again, was it the woman's SUV? No, that didn't seem to--

Jack climbed into the passenger seat as the woman moved to to the rear seat, and just like that, the SUV took off again, barreling down the narrow road. Sighing, Ianto sat back. After a moment, he collected his mug and Jack's half-empty coffee cup. He didn't know what to make of this. Jack clearly knew the woman: was she a co-worker? His wife, girlfriend, lover? _Jesus_ , Ianto scolded himself as he went back into the shop. _Fucking paranoid and I haven't even been out on a date with him yet_.

* * *

"Jack--"

"Save it," Jack snapped, and Owen's mouth clicked shut.

"It's a bad idea," Gwen said. Jack turned in his seat to glare at her; his gaze swept Tosh and then came forward to take in Owen as well.

"I don't want to hear it. Not from any of you." Jack's eyebrow went up, and, still focused on Owen, he added, " _Especially_ you."

The tone in the SUV's cabin stayed dead quiet until they reached their destination, a construction yard in Barry. As they piled out of the vehicle and trudged around to the rear to get their equipment, Tosh paused to place a hand on Jack's arm.

"What?" he asked, and her mouth twitched for a moment.

"Just be careful," she said. "That's all I'm going to say, I promise."

Jack nodded brusquely. "Don't worry about it," he told her. Once she'd gone off after the others, Jack sighed. They might have had a point, but that didn't make him any less angry about the whole affair. Wiping his face, he made himself smile and started after them.

* * *

Ianto was crossing the road on his way home when his mobile rang. Startled, he fished it out of his pocket, stepping up on the pavement as he answered it.

"It's Jack Harkness," said the American voice, and Ianto couldn't help but laugh briefly.

"I recognise your voice," he said. "What's going on?"

"I just -- I wanted to apologise for running off on you like that," Jack said. "Today, I mean. I really didn't want to, but it was work, I didn't have a choice."

"I guessed something of the sort," Ianto replied. He shouldered the mobile briefly as he shifted the bag of groceries in his arm into a better position. It was still odd, he thought: a job like that would surely contact its employees some other way than by driving up to them on the street and dragging them away, wouldn't it? Still, he couldn't say; he hardly had any authority in the matter.

"Anyway, it turned out to be nothing," Jack said, his voice wry. "I was supposed to be off for the next few days, we got it straightened out. So are we still on for dinner?"

"As long as you don't get dragged off by -- I'm guessing that was one of your co-workers?" Ianto asked.

"She works in the office," Jack said. "And no, she's not a girlfriend or anything like that. Her name's Toshiko -- she's the one I'm making the cranes for."

"Oh," Ianto said, and then, as it clicked, "Oh, the cranes, right. Right, of course." He glanced up, then reached for his keys, seeing his flat down the block. "So. Yeah, you said tomorrow, right? Eight o'clock at Strada?"

"That's it," Jack said, his voice gone quiet for a moment. "I'll meet you there, if that's all right."

"Sounds good." Thinking about parking, calculating whether it'd be easier to take the bus, Ianto absently unlocked the front door of his building. "Well, I'll see you there, then."

"Can't wait." Jack's voice was warm, now, promising something that made heat and nerves twist in Ianto's gut. "See you then, Ianto."

"See you," Ianto said again, feeling a little foolish. He was glad when Jack rang off first; ending the call, he tucked the mobile in his pocket and started up the stairs. It still didn't seem to quite make sense that he was going to dinner with a man; not that he'd ever had a problem with that sort of thing, he completely supported it, but for it to be _him_ \--

Rhiannon would have a field day with it, he thought wryly, opening the door of his flat. One thing was sure, he couldn't let her find out.

* * *

In the end, he decided to wear a suit.

Ianto didn't usually think too much about what he wore every day; as long as he was clean and presentable, Alun didn't mind if he showed up in jeans or a tuxedo, so he'd taken to denims and a button-down as a basic uniform for work attire. But he wanted to look respectable tonight -- even if Jack had already seen him otherwise -- and so he went to the back of his closet, where for several months had hung, untouched, a line of finely-tailored suits. They were just one of the many mysteries of Ianto's life, the little puzzles he'd had to make himself accept might never be solved. Though he'd never tried one of the suits on, he wasn't surprised to find that it fit perfectly; muscle instinct seemed to guide his hand to a shirt of a deep scarlet, then to a matching tie hung on the rack inside the closet door. Ianto closed his eyes and let his hands knot the tie, as if by magic. When he opened his eyes again and looked at himself in the mirror, he inhaled in surprise. He looked -- well, like he was ready to turn up to work at any business firm.

Without letting himself think too deeply about the reasoning behind the suit, he headed for the door.

He'd opted to drive after all, just in case he needed a way home, and so he arrived a good ten minutes early. Jack didn't seem to be present, not outside the restaurant nor in the foyer; Ianto stood waiting for all of thirty seconds before opting for a nerve-calming pint at the bar. He kept an eye on his watch as he sipped, glancing back occasionally at the door. When it opened on a familiar face and that everpresent greatcoat, Ianto hastily swallowed the last ounce or so of his pint, gulping hard to get it down, and stood to go back into the waiting area.

Jack's smile froze in place the moment Ianto stepped into the foyer. Blinking, Ianto glanced down at himself and then back at Jack. The look in his eyes was reminiscent of that first day Jack had walked into the shop -- stunned astonishment, hastily hidden behind a ready smile and dancing eyes.

"Ianto," Jack said, "you look amazing," and the moment passed as if it never happened.

They were shown to a table with, as promised, a gorgeous view overlooking Cardiff Bay; at this time of night, the waters shone from all the lights, a deceptively beautiful sight. Ianto knew he had nothing to be nervous about; nonetheless, he was relieved by the light chatter as they took their seats. Jack asked him how the day had been and Ianto briefly mentioned the pensioners who had come in for their weekly visit. "Always trying to fix me up with their granddaughters," he chuckled.

"Any success?" Jack asked, an eyebrow raised.

Ianto smiled a little as he took up his menu. "Afraid not," he said, with a quick glance at Jack. "Sad for me."

"Lucky for me," Jack replied, his smile warm, and opened his own menu. Ianto had to admit he was impressed; when the waiter appeared with glasses of water, Jack rattled off an order for a bottle of wine -- a good one, Ianto guessed from his limited knowledge of wines -- and a plate of bruschetta along with an entree. He nodded at Ianto, then, and Ianto hastily fumbled his menu open again to give his order.

"Do you get out often?" Jack asked, once the waiter had gone.

Ianto shook his head. "Not really. The shop takes up most of my time, and I don't mind, really, I like it. I usually just come home and read a little, do some websurfing, make my dinner and that's it for the night."

"No stopping at the pub for drinks?" Jack's eyebrow arched; Ianto couldn't help but smile as he sipped his water.

"Afraid not. I like a good bottle of Brains, don't get me wrong, but I just don't get into the whole bar scene." He inhaled, looking down at his glass, frosty with condensation, and bit his lip a moment; there was no better time to say this, and he wanted Jack to know. "I pretty much fell out of the habit after the accident, anyway."

"Accident?" Jack sat up a little, his attention sharpening. "What happened to you?"

Ianto couldn't quite help the laugh. "I wish I knew. It was about three months ago, though. I woke up in hospital, they said I'd been banged on the head. Probably a car accident, but no one knew for sure; I'd just been left at A&E. My last memory from before that is when I was in London, looking for work there."

"But you were found here." Jack sounded a little confused, and Ianto nodded.

"Yup. At St Helen's. I don't know how. There were some records, apparently I'd come back here after losing my job there, but nothing that helped me remember. So I was released from hospital and got the job at Briar's." Biting his lip, he took up his fork, pushing the food around on his plate.

"Ianto, that's horrible," Jack said quietly, his voice surprisingly -- gentle, Ianto thought. Glancing up at Jack, he smiled a little.

"It's not easy," he said. "But I've mostly learned to deal with it. Outside of there being a lot of books and videos in my flat that I don't remember buying, and clothes--" He stopped a moment, glancing down at his suit, and then continued. "And, of course, a flat of my own, I didn't have that four years ago. I was sleeping on a mate's couch."

"So you don't remember -- anything at all?"

Once, Ianto might have thought Jack's curiosity odd, even ghoulish. But he'd had those questions dozens of times before he'd given up mentioning the accident to new acquaintances, and now it didn't bother him. He simply shrugged. "Not really, no. I get -- flashes, every now and then, but I never really know if they're things that actually happened or if they're just dreams of science-fiction films or what-have-you." At Jack's curious look, he smiled. "Robot women from Mars, things like that."

Jack sat back, his expression somehow dimmed. "I'm sorry," he said, after a moment. "Really, I'm not just saying that to say it."

Ianto couldn't help raising an eyebrow. "You don't have to apologise," he said, with an unexpected smile. "It's not your fault."

The waiter returned with the bruschetta and wine, then, and Ianto let the man's bustling fill the sudden silence. Once the wine had been tasted and approved and plates had been set before them for the bruschetta, the waiter disappeared again, and Jack deliberately turned the conversation to other subjects; gratefully, Ianto followed, glad to be off the topic of his amnesia.

* * *

"Want to go for a walk?" Jack asked, afterward, and Ianto surprised himself by nodding. Dinner was all that was on the menu tonight -- "I'm on call," Jack had said earlier, and Ianto presumed he might have to leave on a moment's notice, so he was happy to accept whatever time they were allotted. As they made their way along the walkways overlooking the bay, Ianto glanced at Jack. His stride was casual and long, a ground-eating pace; the greatcoat swirled around his legs as he walked. They came to a stop by the statues at the corner of the railing, and there Jack leaned, so Ianto followed suit.

"It's beautiful, this time of night," Jack said.

"When you can't see all the rubbish in the water." Ianto couldn't help the wryness in his voice, but he smiled as Jack glanced at him. "It is lovely, though, all the lights. I don't -- I don't think I've been here since the Barrage was put in," and he chuckled a little, "but I remember what it was like before. This is -- a lot different."

"Cleaner," Jack said absently.

"You've been in Cardiff that long?" Ianto said, startled into the question.

"A few years, yeah." Jack stood again, turning to lean against the railing, hands loosely curved on the metal. Ianto couldn't help looking at those hands; something about them said they'd been used well and long. Workman's hands, even though Jack didn't appear to be the handyman type. "I was married here," he said suddenly. "In Cardiff, I mean. Not on the docks."

"Oh," said Ianto, not knowing what else to say. "It -- uh. I take it it didn't last?"

Jack's face was dark, the streetlight behind him outlining only his profile. "She died a few years ago," he said quietly. "Don't say it."

Ianto's mouth closed on the sympathy he'd been about to express. God, he was so fucking out of his depth.

"It's all right," Jack went on, quietly. "It was -- she was in pain. It was better."

"As if death could ever be better," Ianto said suddenly, turning his face to the Bay. He could feel Jack looking at him, endured it without meeting the gaze. It lingered on him for a few more moments; then Ianto felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and let himself glance. Jack was looking down, his near hand resting as if by happenstance on Ianto's shoulder.

"Anyway," Jack said, and when he looked up again, he was smiling. "How does some dessert sound? Ice cream?"

* * *

"I was -- well. I wanted to be rebellious," Ianto confessed, sitting outside Cadwalader's with an ice cream cone in his hand. "Streaked my hair, wanted to get my lip pierced."

"I bet you looked amazing," Jack said, laughing.

"Amazingly awful." Ianto grinned, licked around the edges of the cone. Normally, he didn't care for ice cream, but there was something in this, a strange power. Jack's gaze was drawn to the sight like a magnet, and when he finished, licking his lips and drawing his tongue in again, he saw Jack take a breath, his throat working. Heat rose to Ianto's cheeks, but Jack was smiling and he knew he wanted more of that. "Anyway," he said, with a shrug. "I was a weedy kid to begin with, so the blue streaks just made me look even more pathetic. And then I got nicked for lifting a shirt from Topman, of all places." Encouraged by Jack's chuckle, he took another long lick of ice cream, vanilla and chocolate swirled on his tongue.

"So what happened?" Jack prompted. His voice was a little throatier now, and Ianto flicked a glance at him. Jack's tongue stole out to lick his lips; Ianto felt the sudden urge to lean in and kiss him, but he held back, aware that they were still in a very visible location.

"I got four weeks for lipping off to the magistrate," Ianto said instead. "It was worth it, though."

Jack's smile widened, admitted a low chuckle. Ianto thought suddenly that it had all been worth it to get that smile out of him. "How old were you when all this happened?"

"Fifteen." It was Ianto's turn to watch now as Jack spooned some of his own ice cream from the cup into that tempting mouth. "It was enough to know that that wasn't how I wanted to live my life."

"Yeah?" Jack's eyebrow went up. "How did you want to live your life?"

"Not there." Ianto found himself plucking at the seam of his trousers rather than look at Jack. He didn't like to talk about where he'd come from, though he knew it was hardly shameful; better to live in one place and at least try to get by than not try at all, and Rhiannon was happy -- or at least enough that she'd never admit otherwise -- still living in council housing. "Not in an estate for the rest of my life, in and out of jail, kicking around on the dole and never getting anywhere."

"So you went to London," Jack said.

"I was twenty-one," Ianto replied, nodding. "M-my mother had gone, Dad was dead." It was his turn now to glance up and forestall the apology on Jack's lips; wisely, Jack kept his mouth shut, and Ianto looked down again. "Rhi -- Rhiannon, my sister, she didn't want me to go, but as far as I could see, there was nothing keeping me there."

"Pretty bold move." Jack's fingers came into view, touching Ianto's knee, and Ianto found his gaze focusing on Jack's hand. The touch was gentle, a simple connection, and yet Ianto imagined he could feel those fingertips searing his skin through his trousers. "More than most kids in your state would have done."

Kids. Ianto tried not to let out a disappointed sigh; it was clear how Jack viewed him. "Well," he shrugged. "I'm still alive, so I must have done all right when I was there." He took a bite of ice cream to finish the majority of it off, and Jack's hand withdrew from his knee. "And now I have this sort of -- this opportunity to start over. Make a fresh go of things, you know?"

Jack only nodded, his face shuttered. Then he held out a hand for the remains of Ianto's ice cream. "Ready?" he asked, and Ianto nodded.

* * *

The idea of being walked to his car was a bit foreign, but Ianto liked it nonetheless. If nothing else, it gave them a few more minutes together; Ianto was glad that the carpark was quiet, with only distant voices betraying the activity of others retrieving their vehicles.

"This was -- this was nice," Ianto said, as they approached his car and he found his keys. "I'd like to do it again."

Jack's smile was soft, barely visible at the corners of his mouth. "I'd like that. Maybe actually get to a film, this time."

Ianto ducked his head, smiling, and nodded. "That--" he began, but before he could agree, he was cut off by the soft press of Jack's mouth on his. After a moment of startlement, he remembered to close his eyes. This was new, new and unusual; he wasn't used to meeting a kiss without bending his neck, nor was he prepared for the easy warmth of a flat male chest against his. When he brought a hand up, Jack caught it in his, curved his fingers around Ianto's. Heat blazed through him, and he pulled back with a little gasp.

"All right there?" Jack asked softly. His thumb slid over Ianto's chin. Swallowing hard, Ianto nodded.

"More than," he said, and Jack laughed. He let go all at once, stepping back; Ianto felt a shock of cool air swirl between them.

Turning to the car, he unlocked the door, then looked at Jack again. "S-so. Another date?"

"Another date." Jack sounded vaguely amused, as if by some private joke, but he nodded, too, his hands sliding into the pockets of his greatcoat. "I'll stop by the shop the next time I'm free and we can arrange things. Maybe I'll bring lunch."

"Sure." Ianto found himself smiling, nodding absurdly as Jack stepped away and then turned, walking back toward the quay. Inhaling, Ianto slid into the car, closed the door, and covered his mouth with his hand. He couldn't explain how Jack's kiss had shaken him, but he knew he couldn't wait for the next date.

* * *

One thing Ianto was already learning to appreciate about Jack was his impeccable sense of timing.

Jack had called earlier that morning, two days after their date, to ask if Ianto was free for lunch -- they'd shared a chuckle at that, since Ianto knew that Jack was aware of the fact Ianto had control of the store when his boss wasn't around, which was most of the time. Ianto mentioned he was in the mood for curry; Jack promised to stop for Indian and that he'd be there by one. Which was a relief, because Melody walked in the door at half one and Ianto found himself counting down the minutes, praying that Jack wouldn't be delayed or called away by some job function.

To try and show that he was busy, he'd started to work through a list of special orders, entering them into the computer and focusing on the screen. It wasn't working. Melody leaned on the counter, her breasts (threatening to spill out of the low-cut top she wore) pressed to the glass. "See, this is the kind of thing I could help you with," she said, gum snapping in her cheek.

"Really, I can handle it myself," Ianto said, cutting himself off before he added the filthy finish to the sentence that his brain readily supplied. He kept his mouth shut, though; despite her pushiness, he didn't want her running to tell Alun he'd mouthed off.

"Then I'm sure it'd be easy to teach me how to do the ordering. Come on, Ianto, wouldn't it be so much fun to have someone helping out around here--?"

The bell over the door chimed, cutting off her sentence. Ianto sent up a wordless prayer of thanks and turned toward the door. It was, indeed, Jack -- ten minutes early, thank Christ -- his hands occupied with two large plastic bags that carried delicious scents into the shop. Jack's eyes surveyed the situation for a bare moment, and then he grinned, approaching the counter. Melody was forced to step aside as Jack set the bags down. Ianto's mouth began to water at the rich smells wafting up from the containers, and then again when he raised his eyes to meet Jack's.

"So I got your samosas, babe," Jack was saying, his own eyes dancing, "but I gotta tell you, it was a pain in the ass, you'd better think of something really good to make it up to me--" He paused, then, as if just noticing Melody, whose face had begun to darken. "Sorry, I'm interrupting, you've got a customer?"

"Yep," Ianto said. He flicked the barest glance at Melody; then, unable to resist the temptation, he put his hands on the counter and leaned up briefly, just far enough to meet Jack's mouth with his own in a casual kiss of greeting. "Why don't you take the food outside, love, I'll be right there."

Smirking, Jack lifted the bags again. "All right, but you'd better hurry. I'm starving enough to eat this all myself."

As he departed, the bell over the door ringing in his wake, Ianto turned to glance almost negligently at Melody. Her cheeks had gone red; her mouth had fallen open, but nothing was coming out -- for once. "Did you need anything else?" Ianto asked, feeling shameless enough to smile at her.

"Obviously not," she said at last. Turning, she gave a disdainful _hmph!_ and stomped out the door.

Once Ianto had finished laughing himself breathless, he followed, turning the sign on the door to 'Closed' as he went. Jack had claimed one of the tables out front, the food already laid out: enough containers to feed an army, it looked like.

"There you are," Jack said with a smile, and tugged out the chair nearest his own. "Boy, talk about if looks could kill. You should have seen the glare I got."

"Thank you," Ianto replied, low and fervent, sliding into his seat. "Both for that and for the food. My God, I'll be eating Indian for weeks."

Jack's smile was soft as he began opening containers. "I know I should feel bad," he said, "but strangely enough, I don't."

"Don't. Seriously." Finding the paper plates, Ianto began to serve himself. "She's been a thorn in my side practically since I started working here, and nothing I did ever put her off. I can't even begin to thank you."

"That kiss was a good start," Jack said. Glancing at him, Ianto saw the smile tucked into the corner of Jack's mouth, the dimple deepening there. He hadn't even thought about it; the kiss had been pure impulse, without giving him time to be embarrassed. Now, belated, the blush came to his cheeks. He could see Jack enjoying it, too, and wasn't at all surprised when the man put a hand on the table and leaned over to kiss him again. Ianto moved forward a little to meet it, welcoming the press of Jack's lips on his.

Smiling wider, Jack bent to his curry, and Ianto found himself smiling as he began to eat.

* * *

Jack's ideas for dates were surprisingly old-fashioned -- he wanted to take Ianto out to a film, then for drinks and dancing -- but Ianto liked it. It suited the man, with his classic clothing and manners. There was still plenty of food left even though they'd both stuffed themselves, and Jack helped him pack it all back up, urging him to take the rest home for leftovers. Handing over the bag, Jack had waited for Ianto to grasp it, then used that as leverage to tug him close for another kiss, this one easy, promising.

A film, Ianto thought, climbing the stairs to his flat. A film, in a dark cinema, where he'd have every excuse to touch Jack's hand while reaching for popcorn -- or even steal kisses in the concealing darkness. Ianto wondered briefly when he'd so completely accepted the idea of being attracted to a man, then decided he didn't care. It was enough to--

His door was open.

Blinking, Ianto looked down at the keys in his hand, then at the space normally occupied by the door's deadbolt. Wood splintered at the place in the frame where the door had been forced open. Beyond, he saw the normal darkness of his flat. An unpleasant chill slid down his spine. The door was only open a few inches, but that was enough. He'd been so distracted by his thoughts as he came up the steps that he hadn't realised.

"Fuck," he whispered, and stepped carefully into the flat, nudging the door open with his shoulder. His hand shook, rattling the styrofoam containers of leftover Indian food, and suddenly Ianto realised what a stupid idea it was to step into his broken-into and potentially-robbed flat. Stopping in the middle of his kitchen floor, he put down the bag and reached into his pocket for his mobile.

He meant to dial 999, but his fingers slid to the speed-dial and, almost without thinking, he pressed the button for Jack's number. Chewing on his lip, he waited while it rang, hoping it wouldn't go to voicemail--

"Ianto?" Jack's voice was terse in his ear; Ianto let out the breath he'd been holding. "I'm a little bit busy right now," Jack went on, "what is it?"

"Jack, thank God you're there. Oh, God, I -- I should probably have called the police first, I know, but my flat, my flat's been broken into. They broke the lock to get in, I think I've been robbed." He could feel himself shaking now with the delayed reaction. "Jack, can you--"

He heard the footsteps behind him too late. Before he had even begun to turn, his vision exploded with stars and then went black.

* * *

" _Ianto_!" Jack shouted. Across the Hub, Gwen and Tosh had given up pretending not to listen and stared openly at Jack. "Ianto! Ianto!" The connection was still there; Ianto had stopped responding. A moment later, the call ended, punctuated with a crunching noise. Swearing, he dropped the phone and grabbed his Webley, strapping it on as he bolted from the office.

"Jack?" Gwen stood up, reaching for her own jacket. "Jack, what's happened?"

"Ianto's flat was broken into, too." Jack paused long enough to swing his coat on, glancing back at Gwen. "I lost him while he was telling me what happened."

"I'm coming with you," she said immediately.

"No. I need you here--"

"Look, this isn't up for argument," Gwen said. Her Bluetooth chirped and she tapped it with a finger. "Owen?"

"Yeah," came Owen's voice through the link. "Your flat's been ransacked, Tosh, I'm sorry." Tosh went pale as he continued, "It looks like we were all hit one after the other."

"And Ianto, now," Jack said.

"What the fuck?" Owen swore. "How do you know?"

"He called me." Jack's voice promised a week of Weevil cleanup duty for anyone who dared to chide him. "Something's happened to him." Gwen opened her mouth, and Jack shook his head. "Owen, meet me at Ianto's flat," he said. "Gwen, I want you coordinating with the police. Get people at your place, make sure your boyfriend doesn't get in there first, and I want investigators at Tosh and Owen's. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to find out where we live. We need the police resources right now."

Gwen gave Jack a mutinous look, but she nodded, taking her mobile from her pocket and dialling. "What do you want me doing?" Tosh asked as Jack headed for the armoury.

"Keep putting the pieces together," Jack said. "Feed whatever you find to the SUV. There's a reason we were all hit tonight, and the sooner we have details, the sooner we'll know why."

He could see that she was spooked, but she nodded as she turned back to her workstation. Swallowing hard, Jack darted out the door and through the corridor to the carpark. He was afraid he might already be too late.

* * *

Owen's car was already pulled into a spot on the street in front of Ianto's apartment block when Jack swerved the SUV into a nearby driveway. Good, Jack breathed, and took a moment to check the monitor to his side. Tosh hadn't come up with anything yet. Breathing out, Jack hurried to the building, taking the steps two at a time.

He slowed as he reached Ianto's door, which still stood open; the front light was on, and Jack saw Owen crouched over Ianto's prone body, Ianto's mobile smashed to bits on the floor nearby.

"How is he?" Jack asked.

"He'll live," Owen said tersely. Glancing up at Jack, he sat back a bit, one knee on the floor, his medical kit open by his foot. "Nasty bump on the back of his head, I'm guessing he'll be mildly concussed, but other than that, he's unharmed. Must have had an unexpected visitor--"

"Jack?" said Ianto's voice, a weak and ragged sound. Jack knelt instantly, and Owen moved back, rolling his eyes as he made room.

"Hey," Jack said. "Careful, don't move. You've been hit in the head."

"Feels like it." Despite Jack's instruction, Ianto was pushing himself up to sit, his eyes glazed, and his hand went to the back of his head; he winced at once. "Fuck, my head is killing me."

"Here." Owen had rummaged in his bag, producing a couple of paracetamol that he pressed into Ianto's hand, followed by a bottle of water. "Take these for the pain. You've got concussion. Do you remember the last thing that happened to you?"

Ianto blinked, but obediently swallowed the pills, a sight that made Jack's throat momentarily tighten. "I was... I was coming home after work. I had the food..." His eyes tracked across the floor until he saw the bagful of containers, the leftover Indian he had shared with Jack at lunch. "The door was open. Someone broke in." He took a deep breath. Jack let himself spread a hand on Ianto's back, moving it in gentle caresses. Ianto glanced at him, an odd look shadowing his eyes for just a moment; then he looked down again at the bits of circuitry and electronics scattered across the lino.

"I called you," he said, "and that's when they hit me. From behind. They were still in my flat. I don't remember anything after that until you got here."

"Right," Owen said perfunctorily. "Well, our little friend left before I got here, because the place is clean. Looks like the same thing happened here as to the rest of us; the place is wrecked, I don't know if anything was stolen."

"If they were after..." Jack began, then trailed off. Swallowing, he got to his feet. "Nevermind. I want you to see what you can find, work with the police when they get here. Then talk to the landlord and get the door locked for tonight? I'm going to take Ianto back to the Hub."

"That is the worst fucking idea I've heard tonight," Owen said, arms folded across his chest. "What he needs is--"

"You don't get to tell me what he needs," Jack stated, feeling that unnerving anger begin to rise in him. "Unless it specifically relates to his medical issues, Owen, I don't require your opinion."

Owen's jaw worked, his eyes dark wells of anger, but then he shook his head and bent to pick up his bag. "Fine. You do what you want, you always do."

"One of the perks of being the boss," Jack snapped. He turned to Ianto, reaching to take his hands. "Here," he said, his voice gentler. "Can you get up?"

Ianto nodded, though he leaned heavily on Jack once he'd gained his feet. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Somewhere else for right now," Jack said, ushering Ianto out into the corridor.

"I don't understand," Ianto murmured. "I thought you were a pilot."

"Later," Jack said, hoping he wouldn't have to come up with an explanation.

* * *

In the evening light, Ianto could clearly read the name embossed into the side panel of the black SUV: Torchwood.

"What's a Torchwood?" he asked as Jack opened the passenger door for him.

"Later," Jack said again. Head spinning, Ianto climbed into the seat and reached for the belt. He felt a new wave of dizziness, but this time it had less to do with his throbbing head and more to do with the astonishing amount of kit in the car. He was used to satnav and perhaps a flash stereo; this vehicle had a large computer screen in front of him, a keyboard, and who knew what sort of electronics in the well between the seats.

Hands shaking, he finished belting in as Jack climbed into the driver's seat and started the SUV. He gave Ianto a quick glance and then backed out of the drive in which he had illegally parked.

"Where are you taking me?" Ianto asked again.

"Somewhere safe," Jack said briefly.

"I don't think I need to see a doctor." Ianto felt gingerly at the back of his head. It was still pounding, the skin sensitive to the touch; he could tell he'd have a massive lump there. "That man said I was concussed, but I think I'm fine."

"I'm not taking you to the hospital," Jack said. He tapped a button on the Bluetooth earpiece, a shiny silver bit of tech in a design Ianto didn't recognise. "Tosh?" he said. "Any news?"

"Same prints at my flat and Owen's," came a voice through the SUV's sound system. Ianto blinked. Tosh: that was the pretty Asian woman he'd seen drag Jack off. She had a precise English accent, and she sounded upset. "Whoever did this, it seems to have been just one person."

"Have they run the prints yet?" Jack asked.

"I've got them," the woman's voice said.

Another female voice broke in, this one distinctly Welsh. Ianto had the strangest feeling of familiarity when it spoke. "We've got a theory, Jack. Remember Murray Daniels? The kid we caught selling artefacts out of the boot of his car?"

"Shit," Jack said feelingly. Ianto turned his head -- carefully -- to watch him. "Shit, of course. He kept saying he'd get us back."

"You shouldn't have let him go without retconning him," the unidentified female voice said, with a certain edge to it. Ianto felt like he was listening to a conversation in a language similar to English: close enough that he could grasp a phrase, but not enough to know what the phrase meant.

"Yeah, Gwen, I know, you're right." Jack raked a hand through his hair, ignoring a red light, and Ianto felt a sudden strong need to grasp the _oh-fuck_ handle in the ceiling of the SUV. "My bad, OK? Get a search running on him. If he's got anything with any kind of Rift energy, we can trace the signature--"

"Already on it," said Tosh's clipped London accent, and Jack nodded.

"I'm bringing Ianto back to the Hub," he said. Now he glanced at Ianto, who hurriedly looked away, as if it were possible to pretend he couldn't overhear the conversation.

Both womens' voices chimed in with similar sentiments: "Jack, you can't--" from Tosh, and "That's a terrible idea," from the other one, presumably Gwen.

"I can't leave him in his flat. He was knocked out and he's got a mild concussion. I've got Owen coordinating with the police at the flat, so where else am I going to take him?"

"To hospital?" suggested Gwen crisply.

"We'll discuss this later," Jack said. "See you in five." He cut off the connection with a touch of his finger, then glanced at Ianto again. "Doing all right?" he asked, as if nothing out of place was happening.

Ianto took a careful breath. "I'm a bit confused," he said, trying and mostly succeeding in keeping the acid from his voice.

"I promise I'll explain it all when we get to where we're going." Jack looked back out the windscreen; for lack of anything better to do, Ianto did as well. He could see that they were driving down Lloyd George now, with Cardiff Bay and Roald Dahl Plass coming into view. The Bay again: something about it niggled at his memory, and not just because of the dinner date he'd had with Jack a few days ago.

To his surprise, Jack drove straight onto the Plass, ignoring the signs and the few remaining tourists wandering near the Millennium Centre, and stopped the SUV near the water tower. He shut the car off, then looked at Ianto again. "We're here."

"We're... where?" asked Ianto.

"Come on," Jack said, and got out of the SUV. Feeling a wave of confusion that had nothing to do with his injury, Ianto carefully unbuckled and followed him. For a strange moment that made his head hurt even worse, he thought Jack would stop at the water tower. That made no sense, though, even though Jack did seem to slow for a moment as he approached the large slab of paving-stone in front of it. Then he continued, turning back to watch Ianto. "This way."

Bewildered, Ianto followed Jack down the gently-sloping floor of the Plass, past the Celtic knot sculpture and down the short flight of steps to the quayside below. "Little late for waterbus tours, isn't it?" he said.

"Over here," Jack said. Ianto saw nothing but the shabby little tourist centre -- the better one was on the other side of the Bay, down near the Norwegian Church.

"Where are you taking me?" he said again. He couldn't explain the reluctance that glued his feet to the spot; he was certain, though, that it had something to do with the way the inside of the tourist centre suddenly flashed before his eyes, familiar as if he'd been in it every day for the last year.

Jack's face, in the fading evening light, was strangely apologetic. He stopped where he stood, just outside the door of the office (plastered with old brochures and a terrible shot of the former Mayor of Cardiff on the front page of the Daily Mail), and extended a hand toward Ianto. "This is going to be very confusing," he said, his voice gentle. "I don't even know, right this second, if I can tell you why. All I'm asking is that you trust me."

Ianto felt the breath leave him. He was still blinking when his feet began to move, taking him down the quay to where Jack stood. Jack nodded, just once, and unlocked the door to the tourist centre; he gently urged Ianto to step inside first, a hand at the small of his back, and then stepped in after him to close the door behind them.

Just inside the door, Ianto had to stop again. It wasn't that his head was pounding, though it was; he felt frozen as he took the place in. It was all exactly as he'd pictured it. The place practically screamed its familiarity to him. He'd have sworn he'd never seen the desk, the worn rack of pamphlets, the ugly carpeting below his feet -- and yet at the same time he had a sudden vivid image of himself standing behind that counter, leaning on it and flipping through a magazine with nothing else to do, the day's tasks completed. Bringing his hands to his eyes, he rubbed them, hard, as if to clear them; then, shaking a little, he turned his gaze on Jack. "What is this place?" he said, in a ragged voice that didn't even sound like his own.

Rather than answer, Jack leaned over the counter and did something unseen. Ianto knew what it was, though, and what it would do: the button, depressed, would cause a segment of wall to open... He turned to face it. Beyond lay a dark stone corridor. Jack was already moving into it. Swallowing hard -- where else could he go now? -- Ianto followed.

They rode down some ways in a lift that had seen better days. Jack stayed silent, his eyes on the floor or the lift controls or anything that wasn't Ianto, and at the moment Ianto found himself uncommonly grateful. He wasn't sure what he felt, beyond the throb of headache, but he knew that he didn't want to be here.

The lift let them out into another short corridor, this one better-lit and terminating in a huge metal door shaped like a giant cog. Seeing it, Ianto had to brace himself with a hand on the wall. Jack was headed for it, of course, but Ianto couldn't. He knew he was close to panic -- he could feel his heart racing -- and his voice trembled when he said, "Jack, stop."

To his surprise, Jack did. "We're almost there," he said, looking back at Ianto. His eyes betrayed nothing but concern, but even that was too much.

"No," Ianto said. "No, I am done being pushed and led around. I need to know what this place is, and I need to know it _now_ , because I can't. I can't do this. Because I have _been here before_ and none of this is making any sense and you have to tell me _something_. Tell me now or I'm going back."

Jack's throat worked. "We're in the Hub," he said quietly. "You remember it because you have been here before. But you've forgotten. It's not your fault. I promise you can trust me, Ianto."

Biting down on the nausea that threatened to rise, Ianto took a step forward, and then another. Without looking, Jack pressed a button on the control panel to the side of the door, and the great wheel rolled away, revealing--

A great expanse of stone and brick and mortar, an atrium extending high into the air above them, connected to the world above by the semi-circular form of the water feature by which Jack had parked the SUV before. Part of the area shaped like a Tube station, with someone's whimsical notion to keep the theme by working the name 'Torchwood' into the tiles. Workstations with modern, state-of-the-art equipment set up on metal grating above a floor where water fed down from the tower into a pool at its base. A dragon painted across the wall by the upper walkway, near a coffee machine that had no doubt not been cleaned once in the past three months. A familiar smell of damp, of wet concrete and faint mildew. A pteranodon swooping down from above with a raucous cry that Ianto knew was her way of greeting known humans. And two women whose faces he knew all too well, standing at one of the workstations, matching expressions of wary worry on their faces.

He was back in the Hub.

Ianto's legs folded up under him. The last thing he remembered was Jack shouting and getting an arm under him before he collapsed.

* * *

"...found him--"

"Give me a location. No, no, scratch that. I want you two out there after him. Owen, meet Gwen and Tosh, they'll have the SUV."

Swimming back into consciousness, Ianto carefully inhaled. The voices were all too familiar -- Tosh, then Jack, giving orders. Feeling a sudden reluctance to let on that he'd awakened, he kept his eyes closed. From the uncomfortable mattress under him, he could tell that he was laid out on the ratty old sofa; Jack must have moved him there after he fainted.

"Jack, what about--"

"Not right now," Jack said, a note of exhaustion in his voice. It made Ianto wince to think that he had abruptly become just another of Jack's problems. "Go on, Gwen. Just apprehend Daniels for now, we'll figure out what to do with him later."

Gwen's answer, whatever it was, was silent, and Ianto had a moment to absently wonder if she had pursued her clear attraction to Jack in his absence. The silence was brief, though, before Gwen and Tosh's foosteps could be heard carrying them out the cogwheel door. Once it rumbled back into place, settling heavily, Jack spoke again. "So, Ianto. Feeling better?"

Useless trying to conceal it. Ianto sat up, gingerly -- his head still ached, though the worst of the pain was gone -- and looked up at Jack, who was still at Tosh's workstation. "Not really," he said.

Jack finished typing something into a command window and then turned to the corner sink and the small fridge there. When he returned, he had a bottle of water and a cold pack, both of which he held out to Ianto. Grateful, Ianto took both items, pressing the cold pack to the back of his head and setting the water on the sofa by his thigh.

"I should have known there was no getting away from this place," he muttered.

With a quiet, disappointed sound, Jack sat down at the other end of the sofa. He rummaged in a pocket for a moment, then, finding what he sought, held his hand out. "Painkillers," he said, the pills on his palm like a peace offering. "If you need them."

Ianto couldn't help the feeling of revulsion that rose in him. "I think I'll pass," he said, looking away.

Jack sighed. "They're just painkillers. I swear. Look." Despite himself, Ianto glanced back at Jack in time to see him dry-swallow one of the pills.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Ianto asked, annoyed despite himself. "You hustled me out of here quick enough last time. Barely even let the bodies cool." Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. "Owen told me I had two choices: lose my memory or go into a drawer in the morgue."

The sofa squeaked a little as Jack stood, and Ianto heard bootsteps moving slowly across the metal grating. "For what it's worth," Jack said softly, "I didn't tell Owen to do that. I hadn't made up my mind yet, but it was never my intention to force you out of Torchwood like that."

Ianto found himself staring at the floor between his feet. He'd leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the cold pack precariously balanced on the back of his neck; the bottle of water lay by his thigh, seeping coolness into his skin. "Oh," he said, because Jack seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Not that he'd had much time to consider things -- it had only been hours after Lisa's death and the cleanup of the three bodies when Owen had taken him down to the autopsy bay and informed him of his options -- but it was still a shock to realise that Owen had acted independently of Jack's orders. Not the first time, certainly not the last.

The image of Lisa as he'd last seen her swam back before his eyes. It was an image that had haunted his nightmares, without context or setting: her body, wrapped in metal and wiring, sprawled loosely on the concrete floor, blood slicking every surface. He didn't realise he was sobbing until his chest began to ache from the lack of air.

A moment later, Jack was there beside him, a hand stroking his back, the other on his knee. Ianto jerked away from him without even thinking. Lisa was dead and Jack was -- was _comforting_ him, like nothing had happened--

The comms beeped, sudden and loud. Ianto had never been so grateful for the distractions of work. When Jack got up and went off to answer Gwen's incoming call, Ianto let himself sag until the shuddering sobs had passed. Curled into himself, he missed most of the conversation; he heard Jack's satisfied congratulations, though, and figured the thief had been caught. _Good_ , Ianto thought absently.

He'd finally sat up and managed to make himself drink some of the water, noting first that the cap was still sealed before opening it to drink, when Jack returned to the couch. He had a dampened flannel in one hand. Ianto took it without a word and wiped at his face. His eyes hurt. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Don't mention it." Jack's voice was only a little tense. "Look, we got the guy, so you can head back to your flat anytime you want."

"What happened?" Ianto asked, curious despite himself.

Jack raised an eyebrow, but he shrugged. "Guy we caught last month with boxes of Gralnaxi fuel cells. God only knows where he got them, but he was trying to sell them at a boot sale. We confiscated them and gave him a slap on the wrist -- like Bernie Harris, remember him?" He didn't seem to react to Ianto's nod, just kept on. "Well, this guy didn't take it so well, apparently. Somehow he found out where we all lived and broke into everyone's places tonight. Yours, Gwen's, Tosh's and Owen's, one after the other. Yours was the last. He didn't steal anything, though. Gwen figures he was after the fuel cells."

"As if we'd keep that kind of thing at home," Ianto said without thinking. This time Jack did flicker a look at him before he continued.

"Yeah, well. He obviously wasn't operating on all cylinders. The others just got him, retconned him up to the eyebrows, and left him with some 'stolen'--" Jack made air quotes with his fingers. "--property in the boot of his car. When the police find it, he'll be facing charges, and Gwen gets a new television out of it."

"Nice for some," Ianto commented. His head had ceased to pound, and he set the coldpack beside him on the couch. "So, uh. What happens to me now?"

"That's up to you," Jack said softly, letting his hands fall to rest on his thighs. Ianto scoffed, and Jack looked up at him again. "I'm serious. It's your choice."

"I find that a little hard to believe," Ianto said.

"Why should you? I never intended for this to happen." Jack's eyes were sincere, and despite himself, Ianto found himself calming under that steady gaze. "Owen went against my wishes. I would have suspended you, I know that much, but I wouldn't have tossed you out of here. I wouldn't have retconned you. You're too valuable to Torchwood." If there was more after that, Ianto couldn't tell; Jack inhaled and stood, hands in his pockets as he made a wide circle of the sofa. "But you've had a taste of a normal life now. You've spent some time just living, like any other normal person. You could have that back." Stopping at Tosh's desk, Jack folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, eyes on Ianto.

"I don't understand," Ianto said, warily watching Jack. "You'd... let me remember all this?"

"I'm too lenient sometimes," Jack said. "Tonight's a good example of that. I let Daniels go, thinking he'd be humiliated enough by the experience to leave us alone. I was wrong." He shrugged, looking away, his gaze distant for a moment. It was a piercingly sad look; Ianto remembered seeing it occasionally, wondering what Jack saw so far away. Then he shrugged and looked back at Ianto. "But you're different," he said. "Despite the obvious, I trust you. And I trust my instincts with you."

"You're mad. You do realise that." Ianto swallowed, his hands working at the lid of the water bottle he'd forgotten he held.

Jack laughed, a surprisingly bright sound given the moment. "I do, actually," he said, and when he looked at Ianto again, it was with a smile. "But I also think you deserve a choice. So I'm giving it to you. You can forget tonight. You can forget the past few weeks. Or you don't have to forget anything at all."

 _Anything at all_. Ianto's throat went suddenly and completely dry. He had to take a mouthful of water to restore moisture to it. "You're serious," he said, when he was able to speak once more.

"Of course," Jack said. "We both said a lot of things that night. I was furious with you, Ianto, I won't deny it. But I've had time to think about it." His mouth worked a moment; he looked down at the grating below his feet. "And who's to say any of us wouldn't have done the same thing, given the circumstances. I can be mad at you for lying about what you did. But I can't fault you for trying to rescue the woman you loved."

Ianto closed his eyes. He could feel the tears stinging again, and he didn't want to break down in front of Jack for a second time that night. When he'd got himself under control, he looked up at Jack again.

"So," Jack said. "Your flat's safe to go back to. Owen made sure the door was fixed before he left. It's your call, Ianto."

"And what about--" Ianto felt himself struggling. He gestured toward Jack, then himself, filling the space between them. "What about -- this. Whatever we've been doing. This dating thing."

"What about it?" Jack asked.

Sighing, Ianto put the water bottle down on the floor. "Why were you doing it?"

"I thought _we_ were," Jack said, voice mild.

"No, Jack, don't. Don't play games with me right now." Ianto stood, hesitated, then took a step toward Jack. "I want to know what it was for. Were you checking up on me? Making sure I wasn't asking questions?"

"The honest truth," Jack said, "is that I didn't even know you worked at the bookshop. When I came in that day, I was just looking for a gift for Tosh. Gwen's been insisting on doing something nice for her birthday. I had no idea I'd see you there."

Remembering the shocked look on Jack's face, Ianto slowly nodded. "And after that?"

"After that." Jack took a deep breath and raised his eyes to Ianto's. "After that, I wanted to see you. That's all. There was part of me that was worried about whether you were being affected by the Retcon, I'll admit, but it was because I wanted you to be all right. And because I wanted you."

Ianto had no idea what to say to that. He nodded again, his eyes still caught by Jack's. He couldn't seem to tear his gaze away.

"What happens with us, then, after this?" he asked.

"Same deal as with the rest," Jack said. "Your choice. If you want to forget, and you don't want to see me again, you won't. If you don't want to forget, and you do want to continue... we can do that, too."

"Is that what you want?" Ianto dared another step closer to Jack. He was close enough now to hear Jack's quiet inhalation, to see the fear in his eyes when he nodded. Jack was scared. That gave Ianto the courage to close the distance between them and kiss him.

Jack made a surprised sound, his hands coming up to cup Ianto's face. It didn't last long; Ianto was shaking, not ready for this much this soon, and Jack's hands slipped reluctantly back when Ianto stepped away.

"I need time to think," he said.

Jack nodded. "Of course." His arms folded at his chest again, and he stayed where he was as Ianto stepped back. "Do you want a ride back?"

"I'll catch a taxi." Glancing around, Ianto felt the usual compulsion to tidy before he left; his last activity of the evening had usually been to do a quick sweep of the Hub to catch the last of the detritus. But he didn't work for Torchwood anymore, and so he walked quietly to the cogwheel door and pressed the button to open it. All the way to the lift, he felt Jack's gaze on his back, between his shoulderblades.

* * *

Three weeks was enough time, Ianto thought. More than enough, really. He was conscious of every detail as he stood outside the door to the tourist centre; he'd been careful to dress in his favourite suit, the one Jack liked best; he had a mug of coffee in hand, the thermos tucked under his arm. Any passing observer would probably think him mental. But here he stood, patiently waiting -- and hoping someone was keeping an eye on the CCTV.

In the event, he only had to stand there for a few minutes before the door opened and Jack emerged from the tourist centre. The set of his shoulders suggested that he knew Ianto was there; his eyes were hooded. But he came up to Ianto, an eyebrow quirked.

"Sir," Ianto said, barely daring to breathe, and offered the mug.

Jack took it; he sniffed it, his eyes closing briefly as he inhaled the rich aroma, but he did nothing else with it. "Why are you here, Ianto?" he asked.

"I'd like my job back," Ianto said. "Please."

"Ianto," Jack said quietly, his voice strange. "Is that your choice?"

Ianto nodded. "It's what I want. I'm not good for anything else." He saw Jack drawing breath to protest, and shook his head. "It's true. The bookshop was fine, but I need -- I need more out of a job. I need something that I can be proud of, something fulfilling."

He searched Jack's eyes for a moment, afraid that Jack would say no. Memories, so recently reclaimed, pointed up the last time he'd begged Jack for employment on this very spot. What if Jack said no this time, saying it was for his own good--

But then Jack nodded slowly. "If that's your choice," he said, "then welcome back to Torchwood."

Ianto let out the breath he'd been holding. "That's not all I decided on," he said. This time he enjoyed seeing Jack's eyes go wary again. "The dating thing," he clarified, his heart speeding a little. "I want to do that, too. Real dates, real... everything."

Jack's smile was a thing of beauty. "All you ever had to do, Ianto Jones, was ask."


End file.
